


Of Dragons and Angels

by Rhunae



Category: Pathfinder: Kingmaker (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:33:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhunae/pseuds/Rhunae
Summary: Rhuen, an elven sorceress, answers the call to clear out the Stolen Lands of bandits, in exchange for a title.
Relationships: Octavia (Pathfinder: Kingmaker)/Original Female Character(s), Octavia/Regongar (Pathfinder: Kingmaker), The Baroness/Tristian (Pathfinder: Kingmaker)
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue: The Road to Glory

**Author's Note:**

> This is the in between moments with my Baroness. 
> 
> My playthrough demanded fanfic. I just finished Chapter 5 of the game, and knew I needed to get this written down before I started to forget details. There are seven chapters planned, based on the seven chapters of the game. So the chapters will/could be lengthy.
> 
> I don't plan on smut, but there is implied sex.
> 
> I had not planned on writing fanfic for this, so I don't have any of the dialogue, so be prepared for my interpretation of the characters. (I did check out the romance with Octavia and Regongar, since I dived head first into Tristian's, but my interpretation and what happens was fairly close).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journal entry.

_Journal entry: Fireday, 23 Calistril 4712 AR._

_I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to keep up with this. I arrived in Restov a week ago, and stayed at the local inn, easily a time to write and get my bearings of the city. The Aldori Swordlords put up a handsome reward: rid The Stolen Lands of the bandit lord, earn a barony. I’ll give it a try. After a hundred fifty-three years, its one of the things, I’ve not done. A ruler of my own barony. Imagine that, huh?_

_Jamandi Aldori invited a number of people, which is amounting to more of a challenge. But fuck it, I’m up for a challenge. Easy Peasy, right? There’s something else she’s not saying. She’s not the type for a frivolous one night stand, I’ll have to figure it out another way._

_These people... I can’t keep all the names straight. Shifty gnome. An obnoxiously perky halfling. Knight with her sword so far stuck up her arse, her back is straight. At least she’s gorgeous, right? A barbarian, who fits all the stereotypes and tropes. Would she understand if I said so? The teifling, now that’s a girl I wouldn’t mind having a roll with, ya know? The dwarf cleric, but not a follower of Torag? Weird. Might as well not even be a dwarf. I hadn’t noticed the elf, she was so still. Like a statue. Something odd about that one. Unnatural._

_All our belongings were brought to the palace. We stay here tonight. Beats that inn bed, all scratchy and lumpy. I’ll miss the company of that cute serving girl. Ahh well. At least the ale is better here._

_Things to do:_

_Write my parents - they’re worried if I don’t write._  
 _Write my brother - Cael will be so jealous. Haha!  
_ _Pick up potions_

Oh yeah, ditched the dude in Daggermark. Hope he doesn't follow me here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daz 3d Render by me. You can see the full size on my Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/photos/sheilakoppbell/49768120772/


	2. Chapter 1: Stolen Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to greatness is paved in blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words: 7600

**Chapter 1: Stolen Land**

Oleg’s Trading Post didn’t have a lot of amenities, nothing like the palace in Restov, but it did have a bathtub and that was all the sorceress needed at this hour. Rhuen eased down further into the steamy water until soap bubbles tickled her nose. Bits of fire magic from her fingertips reheated the water, allowing her to soak until she was nicely pruned.

It was only the start of this quest to rid The Stolen Lands of the bandit, the Stag Lord. What sort of name was that anyway? Was he a worshiper of Erastil? Then why the mist to drown out the life of the plants and animals? She may not be a druid, but that was obviously bad for the plant and animal life, right?

Her parents ran a shop in the small coastal city of Triela, but she left home over fifty years ago for adventure. If she was looking for adventure, she certainly found it. They had walked for says, attacked by various creatures and bandits in this hostile landscape. That she expected. The palace attack, and Tartuccio’s betrayal and accusation still harbored resentment in her stiff shoulders.

Once her fingers and toes pruned, Rhuen finally pulled herself out of the hot water.

* * *

A beautiful creature, a nymph, translucent green skin, green hair with a plume of red down the center, with yellow butterfly wings. Her melodious, smoky voice could lull the unwary to their deaths. And she spoke to Rhuen, begged Rhuen for help. Nightly, the gorgeous creature haunted her dreams. ‘Please help me, you’re my only hope. I’m fading. Please.”

* * *

Valerie stared hard at the map laid out on the table. Linzi leaned over it, marking places they had been with careful scratches of her pen.

Oleg pressed his finger in a spot on the map. At the moment, it had very little on it, except the road from Restov, some rivers, and Oleg’s Trading Post, “That’s the Thorn Ford. You can cross the river there. Temple of the Elk is over here somewheres, and the Old Sycamore is here. Infested with kobolds and mites. I’d tread careful if I were you.”

“Eh, there’s a cave over here,” Bokken added helpfully. “Wouldn’t mind the berries that grow there,” he said, smacking his lips in anticipation.

“I don’t care where we go. Just so long as I can fight whatever’s in the way. I’m bored. When do we leave?” Amiri sat nearby running the whetstone methodically down the huge sword.

“The cave, then,” Rhuen said, pointing to a spot on the map. “It’s close.”

Kesten Garess, a warden from Restov, and his men arrived that morning, “We’re stationed here for the rest of the winter and into spring. Rest assured, we’ll keep the bandits from returning to harass Oleg and his wife.”

* * *

The suffocating mists parted, as the crazy old man walked away from the group, leaving the small party bewildered. Then the mists shifted back into place and hid him from view.

“So…” Linzi began.

“A crypt. That gives a direction,” Rhuen replied, “Beats running around in circles in this Nethys-damned fog.”

“Whatever. I just want to smash his face in,” Amari had been leaning on the huge sword that stood as tall as the barbarian. “We ready?” At Rhuen’s nod, she swung the hunk of metal over her shoulder, taking up rear guard.

* * *

Harrim’s moaning of pithy doom and gloom receded into the darkness as he followed the gnome, leaving the group to deal with paid mercenaries that stood in their way. She hadn’t seen the gloomy cleric of Groetus since Jamandi’s banquet in Restov, when he chose to join Tartuccio’s group. Maybe he was in on whatever scheme Tartuccio was cooking? He didn’t seem like the type to really care one way or the other.

The mercenaries were quickly dispatched. They either ran, or fell to the party’s sword and magic.

“Do you at least know what Tartuccio was looking for?” Rhuen paced back and forth, treading across the old stone and sand, avoiding the bodies, and the blood staining the ground.

“He did not tell us anything,” replied the undead elvan woman, Jaethal. She was leaning against the wall, the scythe skimming the ground back in forth in front of her, leaving a red streak, “He did not think we were worthy to be apart of his plans.” She was annoyed with the bossy gnome, and the abuse he hurled at those within his party. Given the first chance, she abdicated, and joined Rhuen.

“Ahh,” Rhuen muttered.

“He mentioned some tree,” Jaethal sat down, the scythe laid across her lap.

“Oh, that’s something. What about that big sycamore tree to the south?” Rhuen asked, approaching Linzi and Valerie, and the map they held between them. She thought this would be no sweat. Come in, deal with bandits, get the reward. But complications kept cropping up.

Follow after the traitor Tartuccio?

Or continue the search for the Stag Lord?

Her pride demanded her to follow the gnome and interrupt his nefarious search for his master. The spy’s accusations at the palace still grated. The swirling mist made it near impossible to navigate in any direction, which was the product of some curse the Stag Lord placed on these Stolen Lands. It was the reason they were here. Restore order.

The Guardian of the Bloom’s melodic voice was like a stolen caress against her skin, the whisper beseeching her like a kiss full of promise should she succeed in destroying the mist that threatened all of life under its suffocating blanket. If she needed more convincing, the nymph’s unspoken promises would be enough.

“I want to smash his face with my sword!” the barbarian growled, gripping the hilt of the massive sword.

“We are here to bring order to the Stolen Lands.” The knight countered.

The halfling pointed to the map, “Tartuccio has gone here.” She pointed to the sycamore’s location marked in the south. “Our other leads for the Stag Lord are over here at the ford,” she waved vaguely over the part of the map filled with symbols showing it was forested land and the river that flowed through it. “Or the other place.”

The other place. A nightmare the night before of a fire licking up the walls of the house, jumping out the window, and the arrow that pierced… To solve that, they would need to visit a broken bridge, a location further to the southeast. If it wasn’t beautiful nymphs haunting her dreams, it was undead creatures. It should go without saying, she preferred the nymph.

“Tartuccio.” Rhuen finally decided, her pride winning out, despite the promise of the nymph’s lips, she needed to remove this obstacle.

The inquisitor, usually unnaturally still, finally glanced up. She rose from her seated position like a marionette doll come to life.

* * *

The hunt for Tartuccio was fraught with kobolds, mites, more kobolds, and more mites. This sycamore tree was thick with both. The peace between these two creatures were shattered, and now they fought against one another. Oh, and some worg that liked feasting on the small creatures. Rhuen managed to stay out of their war. Little to no help from the kobolds, but the mites were more forthcoming with the whereabouts of “Tartuk”, the purple-skinned kobold shaman.

Tartuccio had ingratiated himself as a shaman for the kobolds, naming himself as Tartuk. Little schemer. She was ready to wring his neck.

Among the mites, Harrim was left in their ‘care’, locked up in a cage for their amusement. Apparently, Tartuccio no longer had need of the cleric. Rhuen bargained, and he was released into her care.

“Why did you save me from death? Surely, you know Groetus would welcome me into his dark domain.” The old dwarf moaned.

“Because I don’t leave people behind, if it can be helped,” Rhuen snapped at him.

Once they reached Tartuccio/Tartuk, he was handing the artifact through a portal. Rhuen cursed under her breath,— if they fought one less giant fucking spider, or one less giant fucking centipede, or warily disarmed one less trap— they could have reached him in time.

Jaethal looked down right delighted in helping him meet his god.

“Words, words, words,” Armani spat, and charged, “FOR GORUM!” Valerie charged a moment later.

Unfortunately, he made it impossible to bring him to Kesten Garess alive.

* * *

The trip to the river, a destroyed bridge, was their next stop. It was eerie. The sign next to the bridge creaked. The wind rustled through the overgrown grasses and weeds. The burned out building was all that was left of whoever lived here. While the embers no longer burned and smoldered, the smell of burnt ash was strong enough to determine this tragedy was recent.

A moan caught Rhuen’s attention, and she left the group to investigate next to the river, but no sooner than she took a step in that direction, did the water shift as someone or something rose from the flowing water. Rhuen took a step back, her arm caught by Valerie.

The creature, this once man, begged for revenge against the Stag Lord.

* * *

Rhuen shared the news, the part about Tartuccio, with Kesten over a bottle of wine on the ramparts of the trading post. ‘Ramparts’ was putting it lightly, considering it was just a wood frame and a platform overlooking the fence.

Kesten stared into the mist, lines across his brow firmly etched into his features from a life of loss.

“He enlisted the help of the kobolds, retrieved whatever he was looking for, and delivered it to his master. We arrived too late to stop him from opening the portal.” Rhuen watched Kesten, wondering if there was a way to ease that set of lines above his eyes. Or ease the frown that pulled the edges of his lips down.

Kesten nodded, still staring out into the mist as though he could see the terrain laid out before him for miles.

“He refused to return with me, so he died there.”

“I will relay that information to Jamandi Aldori. I’ll inform you if the Stag Lord’s men show. It’s been quiet while you were gone. But I wouldn’t mind digging a few of their graves.” The warden’s smile grim, but it was for the promise of justice against those who wronged Oleg and his wife.

Stepping close enough to pull his gaze from the mist, Kesten finally looked at her. A cloy smile, Rhuen offered in a silky tone, “Bringing order to these lands will be difficult, but returning here for a pleasant distraction and respite would not be refused.” The offer extended, she turned to leave,— halted when he grabbed her arm.

Immediately, he loosened his grip, his hand falling away. “You deserve to know.” He said with a heavy voice, then proceeded with his story of why he left Brevoy. She read him wrong, it was not the ‘life of loss’, but the ‘loss of love’.

Rhuen nodded, and thanked him. She gave him one last look and turned away and back down the stairs. She was not looking for something long-term, just frivolous fun; but that man needed far too much care and compassion. More then she knew she could offer.

* * *

Rhuen spun the ring around her finger.

‘Nethys take me.’ Rhuen thought to herself, ‘If I have to deal with one more priest with god-visions or voices in their head…’ She didn’t finish the thought, merely smiled at Jhod, the cleric of Erastil. He was looking for an ancient temple of his god, something about a vision, blah blah blah, and bandits. Bandits she could handle.

The group rested at the Thorn Ford, the dead bandits piled atop a pyre, the dwarf and human clerics arguing about… something. The sorcerer left them to it.

Amiri bellowed, “Wine! I found wine! Guess what I’m doing!”

Walking toward the river, Rhuen paused, “It’s marked for the Stag Lord, right?”

Amiri frowned, “Yes, and now its ours.”

“Poison it. Maybe it will do the work against the Stag Lord for us.”

Amiri growled a series of curses, and walked off in a huff.

“Sure thing,” said the ever cheerful halfling. ”Do you want me to use the nightshade or the oleander?”

“Use whatever you think is best,” Rhuen said, then turned and continued toward the river. Here it was wide and shallow, and easily crossable. Sitting down on one of the rocks, she watched the water meander over submerged pebbles, around and between rocks, and around a downed tree branch as thick as her thigh. The water was clear enough to see tiny fishes darting here and there, hiding from larger predators. She watched a pair of water-skippers glide across the surface. A frog hopped into the water, a small splash where it entered the river and swam to the bottom.

Watching the fish and insects, she almost forgot how oppressive the fog felt, or how unnerving the silence of the forest felt. Unless the birds, insects, and small animals were within a few feet, the fog masked their noises almost completely.

It was easy to get lost in her thoughts. After the cave with spiders, trying to find something for the old alchemist; she needed to remind herself not to rush into danger. They found the berries, and be satisfied with that. It chaffed though. Why was there so many gods-be-damned bandits? It chaffed when everything ended in blood-shed.

A pair of footfalls approached from behind her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to rest with your group tonight, and head to the trade post in the morning.”

Rhuen nodded, indicating she heard the request from the priest.

He hesitated, “About Kressel…” he shuffled his feet. When Rhuen didn’t respond, “It wasn’t your fault.” He waited another moment, then returned to the group.

Rhuen spun the ring around her finger, then sighed.

* * *

The following day, they walked for hours in the fog, trying to find the temple. Instead, Numerians found them, “Drop your weapons and kneel, submit yourself into slavery to those better than you.”

“Yeah, nah, you can go fuck yourself.” Rhuen readied a spell and flung at the leader of this pack of human wolves.

Valerie charged in before the spell landed, Amiri close on her heels bellowing insults. Jaethal strode up to the next nearest slaver and swung the scythe, decapitating his head from his shoulders.

Harrim stood by Rhuen, hand on his mace watching the others, his hand glowing with white light. Linzi stood to the other side, lute in hand as she sang a song of courage.

Outnumbered, the leader opened a portal and stepped through, leaving the other slavers to their end fate.

With the last of the slavers dead, Rhuen and the rest of the group looked for clues of where they had come from. Eventually Amiri tracked the slaver to an encampment. Among the Numarian mercenaries were several cages with slaves locked up within.

Before we could formulate a plan, Amiri charged in, “DEATH TO SLAVERS! FOR GORUM!” Valerie had a second to side eye Rhuen with a small sigh of resignation, then charged in after Amiri.

The rest followed up the hill where Amiri had already engaged with the first Numerian. Bandits and wild animals did not prepare Rhuen for a fight with Technic mages.

The moment the first spell went off, archers redirected their attention to Rhuen and Harrim, volleying arrows at the pair. Quick on her toes, Linzi protected them with an anti-arrow spell. Rhuen hasted the group. Harrim made sure they all remained standing.

Before Amiri could turn her attention to the two last remaining archers, two of the slaves snuck up behind them, and slit the throats. The archers slumped where they stood.

“Mercy!!” the slaver, Kalana, called for a cease fire, and fell to her knees. She begged, she cajoled, she tried to intimidate, but in the end it was up to Rhuen.

A half orc strode up to her, “Allow me the killing blow,” he snarled, glaring at the mage.

“And you are?” Rhuen asked.

“Regongar, and this is Octavia,” indicating his half-elf companion. The pair had escaped slavery. Again. And was caught. Again.

Rhuen shifted her gaze down to the mage kneeling before her, then two the pair of ex-slaves.

“If you need ideas of how to torture her, I have many ways to prolong her suffering,” Jaethal offered. She rested against a nearby tree, the scythe dangling from a hand as it swung lazily from side to side, leaving a trail of red in the dirt where it touched.

“No, I will spare you your miserable life, but for one reason, and one reason alone,” Rhuen said, staring at the woman at her feet. “If you or any slaver comes for them again, I will end your miserable life, and hunt down your master and end his. That is the message. You tell him that.”

Kalana smirked, rose to her feet, and gathered her belongings. Passing Regongar, she murmured low, but Rhuen’s elven ears heard the warning, “You’re free. For now.” Regongar lunged, but was halted only be the soft touch of Octavia.

Flicking small balls of fire at Kalana’s feet, Rhuen warned, “You better hurry, lest I change my mind.”

Kalana fled, opened a portal, and was gone.

* * *

She stared at the burned remnants of the old druid’s hut, digesting the echos of what happened here.

It shouldn’t surprise Rhuen anymore that monstrous humans tend to have terrible pasts. A terrible childhood didn’t mean one had to be a terrible adult. But here it was, the echoes of the past showing the rise of the malicious leader.

The Stag Lord ordered his people to burn this place down. Curious, Rhuen came here to find out why.

The revelation annoyed her. Turning on her heel, she left the burned out building and small shrine to Erastil, and stepped back onto the path. Behind her, the rest of the group followed.

* * *

“Come, I want to show you something,” Regongar said, slinging a pack over his shoulder. Something within clinked.

Octavia grinned from ear to ear, “Please, I think you’ll like it.”

Through the mists, not far from the trading post, the three passed between overgrown trees and into a clearing with an old ruin from ages past. Whatever it was, it had been here for so long that roots grew out of the bricks, and moss covered every surface.

“What is this place?” Rhuen asked, looking around.

“Might have to ask the locals about that, or find out in some book, but for our purposes, we…” Octavia paused and glanced at the half orc, “We want to thank you.”

“I don’t understand,” Rhuen glanced between the pair.

“We wanted to get to know the woman who saved us,” Regongar explained, pulling out a checkered blanket from his pack, shaking it out and laying it out on a flat piece of ground. “I found this place while scouting with one of Garess’ men. I showed Octavia…”

“And I wanted to do something special for you, sooo…” she gestured at the clearing.

Regongar pulled out two bottles of wine from his pack, “And this. It’s good wine. Snagged it at Kalera’s camp and was waiting for a special occasion to pop it open.”

“Helping us with our freedom seemed like the best special occasion we could think of.”

The earlier flirting emboldened the pair to invite Rhuen out beyond the fence, the wine loosened lips and shed inhibitions, and being alone and away from the rest of the party loosened clothing until leather and cloth was scattered around the ruin.

Finished with physical exertions, Rhuen lay her head on Octavia’s thigh with a satisfied smile, while the woman brushing a hand through her hair. For the first time since Rhuen left Restov, she felt relaxed, the aches in her shoulders loose, and the anxiety of leading this party drained. It wouldn’t last, but for the moment, she basked in the glow of the release.

“Mmm, not exactly expected… But definitely not unwelcome.”

“We mentioned it in passing, and how we all flirted, and well, Regongar thought it would happen sooner or later,” Octavia purred softly, her tapered fingernails dragging gently against Rhuen’s scalp.

“But didn’t expect it this time,” Regongar said, tipping the bottle back for the last taste of the wine. He was sitting on the crumbled wall of the ruin in nothing but his skin. Handsome devil, he’d left marks on her skin that she didn’t complain about at the time, but would feel later.

Octavia cycled between pleasure and pain, but between the two of them, it was definitely what she needed.

* * *

Standing before the old temple ruins, the nymph’s honeyed words still lingered in the air. She could taste them, like pollen on her tongue as the nymph’s image faded from her view. The others were unable to see her, so the illusion was meant just for her. It tugged at her, gave her a sense of ‘specialness’.

The group made quick work dispatching most of the creatures forced to defend this place. When they reached the bear at the top of the steps, it turned from its query and attacked.

Valerie was in her element, keeping the attacks focused on her, or rather, her shield, while the rest of us made quick work of the bear. At it’s last breath, the creature slumped to the ground in a pool of its own blood.

Valerie leaned against her shield. She wasn’t even breathing hard.

Amiri gloated, “Time to skin this bitch. I need a cloak.”

Harrim bemoaned the existence of its life.

Linzi sat down on the temple steps, pulled out her notes, and wrote everything down.

Jaethal leaned against the wall, silently observing, her scythe swinging back in forth in front of her feet, the blade dripping blood against stone.

Rhuen cautiously approached the bloodied robes of the figure who lay there in a heap. If nothing else, something on the body would indicate who it is, and with luck the creature had something of worth.

Lifting his hooded-head, the man groaned in pain. Blood stained his face and hair, obscuring his features. He slowly moved, trying to regain his feet with the help of his bloodied scimitar.

“You ARE alive! Do you need help?” Rhuen was at his side immediately, helping him sit up. “Harrim, quick, this man needs your help.”

The dwarf grumbled as he approached, “Are you certain he would not rather shuffle off this mortal coil, to welcome the relief only death can provide?”

“Shut up and heal him,” she snapped. Most days Rhuen could put up with the grumbling, but not when this man obviously needed assistance.

While the dwarf grumbled, the flare of healing magic encircling his hands and directed the magic to the bloody wounds. A moment later, of what she could see, those wounds closed. Rhuen found a cloth and poured some water from her canteen, “Here, let me wipe some of this away.”

The man lifted his gaze to hers, eyes of gold flecked with sunlight looked back at her. She swallowed the lump that was suddenly in the back of her throat. ‘Shit.’

“Thank you for aiding me, friends,” he smiled, his voice soft and poetic in tone. “Another moment, and I would be lunch for that bear.”

“We’re here to kill animals,” she replied lamely, shook her head to clear the fog in her head. This place was getting to her, “I mean, we’re here to find the source of the fog. The animals are guarding something here.”

“Yes, yes!” Suddenly excited, the man continued, “There is a curse here. When you have cleared the temple, return to me. I will tell you more.”

With the remaining beasts dead, Amari happily skinned the fur from their hides; and Rhuen returned to the temple steps where the young man rested. He had wiped most of the blood from his face, revealing his youthful face, probably no older than twenty, but Rhuen was terrible at guessing human ages. His face lit up when he saw her, as she closed the space between them.

“It’s definitely a curse,” he said, rising to his feet feebly, “The animals were tied to it, which is curious, but if we,…” and here he hobbled over to the small fountain of water, and waved his hands over the water. There was no immediate effect, but he seemed quite happy with his efforts. “There, the fog should lift naturally.”

“At least let us escort you somewhere. There is a priest at Oleg’s trading post, at least let us escort you there,” Rhuen offered.

“You are too kind, friends.”

During the return trip to the trading post, he introduced himself as Tristian, a cleric of Saranrae.

‘Another damned priest on a mission from their god,’ Rhuen thought to herself, she felt like she was doused with cold water. But she couldn’t help looking at him when he spoke, the glint of gold in his eyes, the way his hands animated in his excitement of certain subjects.

Tristian spoke at length, excited about his travels and meeting new people, after spending most of his life under the tutelage of the priests of Saranrae; once he went into the world, he was completely in awe of the complex natures of mortals, but the good he saw, too. It warmed his heart. He seemed young, naive, in his convictions.

Rhuen stayed at his side to be certain he didn’t fall completely behind. Or so she told herself. If nothing else, she could hand the rest of his care into the capable hands of Jhod, and return to her search of the wilds for that Stag Lord bastard.

Something nagged at the back of her mind, though. Something he said, or maybe it was the way he said it, but she couldn’t put her finger on it just yet.

* * *

Sleeping in the bed Rhuen rented at the trading post, she became aware of a presence stirring in the small room.

“Guardian of the Bloom.” She tried not to show her affection for this creature, but the lull of the nymph’s voice was intoxicating.

She never remained long, just long enough to impart something important or specific, but never long enough to linger with one another. Now that the fog was lifted, the Guardian told here where to find the Stag Lord’s base.

Unable to sleep, she dressed and left her room. Jhod was leaving Tristian’s room with a bundle under his arm.

“Is he well?” Rhuen asked, “the priest.”

“Yes, he will be.” Jhod glanced up and smiled tiredly, “He needs to rest.”

“Is he sleeping?”

“At the moment? No. But he should. I gave him an herbal tea to help.”

“May I check in on him?”

“Of course,” Jhod replied, stepping to the side of the door, “But keep it brief.”

Rhuen nodded, then stepped into the room.

Tristian’s hair, no longer stained with blood, lay in pale blond wisps around his head, like a halo gifted by his goddess. Eyelids fluttering, he glanced up, and smiled. “Rhuen, my friend. I would go with you, but Jhod insists I rest.”

“I wanted to be sure you were doing ok.” Rhuen hovered near the door. “I know where to locate the Stag Lord, but we need to clear a path. We’ll be back tonight. Is there anything,… I can get you?”

“Do not trouble yourself on my behalf, Rhuen.” Tristian looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. He looked worse. How?

* * *

“I found a book you might like,” Rhuen said after the feeble voice granted her entrance into his room. His wounds were gone, but he seemed worse than before. Heavy bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Ahh, my friend, thank you.” Tristian’s eyes lit up at her entrance and at once tried to pull himself up in bed.

“No, no, stay there, I’ll come to you.” Dropping her bag at the door, Rhuen approached the bed with the book she found. It had seen better days, but it seemed to have all its pages.

“I don’t know if I’m in the right state to read and study,” he began, gesturing to the side table, “Set it there, I’ll take a look later.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, and you’re up for it, I can sit here and read to you.” The uncertainty in his sunlit eyes forced her to rush out the rest, “My mom read to me when I was ill, and thought you might like the distraction.”

A genuine smile lifted his lips, “Thank you, friend, I would welcome the distraction.”

Settling in beside him, Rhuen cast a light above her head, positioning it so her body shielded him from the brightest parts of the light. With the mage-light illuminating the page, Rhuen started to read.

She tried to spend equal amounts of time with her different companions, to get to know them. Reg and Octavia had the secluded spot outside the walls they would frequent. Linzi all abubble about the book she was writing about, of all people, Rhuen. She allowed her to read it, and though some parts made her laugh, and other parts just shake her head, she wasn’t going to dismiss the girl’s excitement for the project. Early mornings, she would watch Amari and Valerie spar. Harrim was preachy, but he was growing on her. Jhod was easier to get along with, but his views were narrow. Jaethal, an undead creature, was more of a fascination, though she tended to leave the woman behind to guard the post. She didn’t know how long Kesten would remain at the post, but she enjoyed their briefings. Dinner with Oleg and Svetlana brought them all together.

Rhuen wasn’t sure if Tristian would leave once he was well, but she hoped he would stay. She couldn’t exactly brush him off just because he was a priest, right? But if she was being honest with herself, it was his eyes that drew her to him. A moth to his flame. Maybe it was his smile. Or his voice. No, definitely his eyes.

“Rhuen?”

She blinked, staring off at the other end of the room. ‘Shit,’ she thought, then picked the book up where she left off.

Setting his palm on the page, Tristian asked, “What were you thinking about. You seem troubled.”

Glancing at him, at the soft glow of his golden eyes and the halo of white-gold hair, the lie died on her tongue, “I was wondering if you would stay long enough to return the favor and read to me.”

Alarm shot through him, his body stiffing, “I certainly hope you are not so wounded that I would need distract you.”

“Perhaps on just a wintry night, when the howl of the wind and snow keeps us indoors.” Rhuen knew she was about to stuff her whole foot down her throat, but marched steadily forward, “Your voice is soothing. And…” ‘And easy on the eyes.’ At least she had enough sense to shut up, ‘And maybe more?’ “And you’re pleasant company.”

“Oh. Oh!” His eyes widened, and he cast his gaze somewhere else, a tinge of pink dusted his cheeks, and a small smile lifted his lips. After a moment of frustrated noises and shifting under the covers, he finally whispered, “That’s very nice of you to say.”

Brazen seduction was out, if that was his reaction to a simple complement, but for some reason she was ok with that. It was cute. Smiling, Rhuen resumed reading.

* * *

It took three weeks of scouting the Stag Lord’s fortress before the party ever walked through the gates. Stupid zombies kept getting in the way. Where the fuck were the zombies coming from?

Rhuen figured with the amount of new recruits coming in, it was ample cover for them to walk in through the front door. Too bad she was recognized.

It was a fight from the very beginning. And the damn bastards kept running for the alarm bell. A well placed fire spell or arrow ended their flight across the yard.

One of the Stag Lord’s generals, Akiros Insmort, was more reasonable, and whatever love he had for the Stag Lord, they no longer saw eye-to-eye. Rhuen was at least happy to have a temporary ally in the fight against her nemesis.

While tip-toeing past the owlbear cage, Linzi fiddled with the locks to make sure it couldn’t escape. No use having that thing escape in the middle of a fight.

Dovan from Nisroch and Auchs were not amiable to a truce or ceasefire. ‘They are now,’ Rhuen thought disdainfully to herself, while watching Valerie and Amiri move the bodies out of sight.

The poisoned wine only did a partial job of hindering the Stag Lord. Unfortunately, he was still capable of fighting,— but not substantially against Akiros. While Akiros went after his boss, the rest of the party dispatched the last of the Stag Lord’s gang.

At the end, Akiros wiped the blood from his blade, spat on the body, then left.

The Stag Lord was going on about some woman before he died. Who was he talking about?

In the end, it didn’t matter. He was dead, and Rhuen could get to the business of running a barony.

* * *

“You succeeded!” Tristian was sitting up in his bed, drinking the tea Jhod had brought up for him, the toast and jam lay in a plate on the bedtable. He looked better than before, the color had returned to his face, though he still had bags under his eyes, “I knew you would. You’re the bravest woman I know.”

Now it was Rhuen’s turn to feel the flush in her cheeks. “The scouting was a good idea. Thank you for that.”

Nodding, he smiled. “Come. You must tell me all about it.” Scooting over in the bed, he patted the place he vacated, “Those poor souls. Did at least any of them leave of their own conscious?”

Dropping her bag by the door, Rhuen crossed the distance and sat down; and settled in to revisit the fight, and answer his questions. His emotions ran the gambit: horrified one moment, indigent another.

“At the end, we killed the owlbear. It was a mercy killing.”

He nodded, “Wise. They are not from these parts.”

* * *

“Are you ready to return to Restov?” Oleg asked.

Rhuen glanced at the rest of the group, laden with supplies and their personal belongings. She turned to glance over the others remaining behind. Tristian stood beside Jhod, his head bowed just enough to hide his features.

Stepping over to Tristian, he finally looked up, “Will you be going with us?”

Shaking his head, Tristian replied sadly, “No, my friend, I will remain behind to look into the curses with Jhod.”

Pulling a book from her pack, Rhuen weighed it in her hand, staring at the leather binding, “I sent a letter to my brother sometime back asking him to send me this. It arrived yesterday.” Looking up to Tristian, “I’d like you to have it. It’s one of my favorite books. Maybe you will like it too.”

Handing him the book, he accepted it, barely glancing at the cover before pressing it to his chest, “I will cherish it, my friend. Thank you.”

Stepping away, Rhuen approaches Kesten, “Will you be returning to Restov with us?”

“Sadly, no,” Kesten said. He was standing beside the gate, one hand on his sword hilt, his gaze sweeping out beyond the gate, “Workers will begin arriving in the morning. They’ll need guidance where to set up.”

“Workers? For what?”

“For you, future-baroness, you will need a place to rule from.” He turned his attention to Rhuen, “The Stag Lord’s estate is a good starting point, would you agree?”

“Oh yes, that’s an excellent location.”

He smiled, nodded, and returned his attention back outside the gate.

Rhuen returned to Oleg, “I’m ready to return to Restov.”

* * *

“What is up with you and choir boy?” Octavia asked, pulling the chemise over her head. She grabbed a book and pressed it against her breast, a deep voice mimicking, “I will cherish it always.”

Rhuen threw a pillow at her, “Shut up. It’s not like that.”

Regongar was already snoring in the bedroom, while Octavia and Rhuen pulled their under clothes back on and sat down in the sitting room. The trip to Restov was uneventful, and they were all received with a heroes welcome, a fabulous dinner, and given some of the best rooms in the palace. Jamandi told them to rest up while they waited for Lady Surtova to arrive.

“You did spend a lot of time with him.” Octavia pointed out, putting the book back on the shelf. She picked up the pillow and threw it back at Rhuen.

Catching the pillow, “He was ill and lonely,” Rhuen shrugged. Sitting down in one of the chairs, she pulled her knees to her chest, and tucked the hem of her chemise over her toes.

Octavia made an unlady like noise from her nose, “Maybe the first couple days, but you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Choir Boy.” Octavia grinned, sitting down in the chair next to Rhuen’s.

“Is someone jealous?” Rhuen grinned, reaching out for Octavia’s hand, their fingers interlinking.

“No, of course not.” She shook her head adamantly, but their was a hitch in her voice, “If he makes you happy, then I’m happy for you,” Octavia smiled, bringing Rhuen’s fingers to her lips.

“I don’t think he thinks of me like that,” Rhuen said, wistful, “Besides, I can’t compete with a goddess.”

Octavia eye’s flashed, “I have an idea. We go shopping tomorrow.”

Arching an eyebrow, “What does shopping have to do with Choi— Tristian?”

* * *

“Any word about Surtova?” Regongar asked, flipping through a book in the seamstress shop. The moment they walked in the shop, he had flopped into the chair, one leg propped over the arm.

“Not yet?” Octavia said, bobbing on her toes excitedly as she waited for Rhuen to step out of the dressing room.

“End of week,” Rhuen called out from behind the curtain.

“Be still, girl, or you’ll be stabbed by a pin again,” the seamstress grumbled, pinning material at the hem.

Jamandi recommended this seamstress, requesting the woman to clear her schedule to accommodate the new baroness. Rhuen had never worn something so fancy in her life. All the silks and petticoats, and brocade was enough to weigh her down and suffocate her.

When the seamstress finally pulled the curtain back to allow Octavia and Regongar to see, Octavia squealed with delight, and Reg stood up and gawked.

“Fuck me, but you looked damned good,” Regongar whistled low in appreciation.

Octavia nudged him in the ribs, “You look so pretty!”

* * *

“Oh! Oh here’s one!” Regongar said from one of the bookcases, “Tempted Fate.” He flipped to the leaflet, deepening his voice, “’He was a handsome rogue, a follower of Norgorber. She was a priestess of Calistra. Could they put their differences aside for love, or would there only be lust between them.’ Sounds like a page turner.” He placed the book in the pile.

Rhuen grabbed it and put it back on the shelf, “I don’t think he would like that one very much.”

“Oh come on now,” he grabbed the book, flipping through the pages, “Ah! ah! See? Right here in the first chapter. ‘Her skin was silky smooth and hot to the touch…’”

Rhuen grabbed the book from him, scowling.

“Hey, it was getting good,” Regongar said defensively.

“I’m not trying to scare him away…” Rhuen frowned. Octavia took the book and flipped through the pages.

Regongar wrapped his arm around Rhuen’s shoulders, and murmured in her ear, “You’ll still have Octavia and me. You don’t need to read me no romance stories to get me in bed. Heh heh heh.”

“Wow.” Octavia flipped through a few more pages, “They bang.” And a few more pages after that, “A lot. Damn, I think I’ll get this for me, if you’re not.”

Rhuen patted Reg’s chest with the palm of her hand, “Thanks Reg. Thank you for helping me look. But I want something fluffy and light.”

They parted, and Regongar went through some of the titles, “Do any of these sound fluffy and light? Tempted by Desire. Coming to Elysium.” He snorted, but kept reading the titles, “Love During the Midnight Hour. Chantry Stories for the Decadent.”

Rhuen groaned, shook her head.

A short wizened halfling approached, looking at Rhuen over the edge of her glasses, “I think I know what you are looking for, but you wont find it in this section. Come with me. Come, come.” She gestured for Rhuen to follow and went to a different aisle of the bookstore. “Your young man is a priest, did I overhear that correctly?”

“Yes, of Sarenrae.” Rhuen pursed her lips, she would have to remember that voices carry and to be careful what they said. However the playful banter, the wrong ears could use it against them.

The halfling pulled a ladder to where she needed it, climbed half way up and slid the book from the shelf and handed it down to Rhuen. She climbed back down, “There you go, that should do it.”

Rhuen read the title, A Deva’s Hearts Desire. ‘What kind of nonsense was this?’ she wondered, and glanced questioning the halfling, but the woman already left the aisle. Returning to Octavia and Regongar, she was sitting in his lap, reading from Tempted Fate, whispering the words near his ear, the two of them giggling every few words.

Picking up the other three books she was buying, “Ok, you two, lets get out of here. I have what I want.”

The three trundled up to the counter, and glanced around for the storekeeper. Octavia touched the bell and shortly after a young man, human, walked over from one of the aisle. “Will that be all for you?”

Rhuen slid forward the books. The young man rang up Rhuen’s four books, the naughty one Regongar and Octavia were getting, and two more books about magic Octavia really wanted.

“Where is the halfling woman? I wanted to thank her.”

“Twelve silvers. There is no halfling woman that works here,” he said, adding the books into a soft canvas bag.

Rhuen pulled a pouch from within the folds of her robes, frowning slightly, “Maybe it was one of your customers, then.” She offered, sliding the twelve silvers toward him.

Shaking his head, “No, you’re my only customers all morning.” He took the silver pieces and dropped them into his till, “Thank you, have a pleasant day.”

Regongar grabbed the bag, and he and Octavia headed for the door. Rhuen followed, but hesitated at the threshold frowning as she glanced over the small shop. Shaking her head, she followed the pair.

* * *

The banquet was successful, Lady Surtova and Jamandi were both in agreement, and appointed Rhuen the title of Baroness of a section of The Stolen Lands. But fuck if she could remember much from it. The dress she tried on days before was suffocating, the corset boning squished her whole body into an impossible shape, and the skirts themselves made it near impossible to sit down for a second. Her toes were squished into tight leather boots causing her feet all sorts of pain.

Rhuen was happy when the whole thing was over and she stuffed the dress, corset, stalkings, and shoes into a chest. If she never wore that prison garment would be a day too soon.

“You need to wear that the day you arrive into your capital city,” Octavia said, as she entered the room.

When Rhuen rose and turned around, Octavia was staring at her behind, but immediately lifted her gaze when she realized Rhuen caught her staring. Rhuen laughed, “You’re as bad as Reg.”

“I can’t help it, I see a sexy woman, and I have to look,” Octavia lifted her chin.

Rhuen smirked, “So why do I need to wear that thing?”

“Well, for one,” Octavia counting on her forefinger, “You’re the Baroness now, and the people need to see you as an authority figure,” she paused, realized in one horrifying moment what she said, and immediately scrunched up her face. “And two,” she counted on the second finger, “You’re gorgeous, and you want Choir Boy to see you like that.”

Shaking her head, “He’s not going to be impressed with a bit of fabric.”

Octavia sighs, opens the chest and pulls the dress back out, “Come with me.” She leads her over to the full length mirror and stands behind her with the dress displayed over her front. “Look at yourself. Octavia whispers over her shoulder, “You’re a fucking goddess. How could he not appreciate that?”

Rhuen snorts, “I’m no goddess, that’s sacrilegious.”

Huffing, Octavia says, “You’re a Baroness with power. Maybe not Saranrae, but you are a minor deity.” Slyly, she continued, “And Guess Who to undress and worship you, Your Grace.”

“Oh my gods, you’re terrible.” Rhuen laughed, taking the dress back to the chest and locking it within its confines.

“I see I’m going to have to change your mind a different way,” Octavia sashayed closer, slipping her fingers into Rhuen’s hand, and guided her to the bedroom.


End file.
